Back porch preacher preachin' at me acting like he wrote the golden rules
Shaking his fist and screechin' at me shoutin' from his soap box like a fool
Come Sunday morning he's lyin' in bed his eyes all red from the wine he's had
Wishing he was dead when he oughta be headin' for Sunday school

Clean up your own backyard oh don't you hand me none of your lines
Clean up your own backyard you tend to your business I'll tend to mine

Drugstore cowboy criticising acting like he's better than you and me
Standin' on the sidewalk supervising tellin' everybody how they ought to be
Come closin' time most every night he locks up tight and out go the lights
And he ducks out of sight and he cheats on his wife with his employee

Clean up your own backyard...

[ harmonica ]
Armchair quarterback's always moanin' second guessin' people all day long
Pushing fooling and hanging on in always messin' where they don't belong
When you get right down to the nitty-gritty isn't it a pity that in this big city
Not a one a little bitty man'll admit he could have been a little bit wrong
Clean up your own backyard...